


(Sounds Like You) When I Close My Eyes

by colourexplosion, dramaturgicallycorrect



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, I don't know what else to tag this, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 22:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2889647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/pseuds/colourexplosion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramaturgicallycorrect/pseuds/dramaturgicallycorrect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a non-au where harry and louis never got together, but both of them wanted to. they get it right eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Sounds Like You) When I Close My Eyes

Maybe this whole thing starts in Orlando. 

Harry knows, though, it has to have really started earlier than that, because Twitter and Tumblr launched campaigns in search of the chill Harry had lost after saying whatever he felt like in those first few days of interviews. Some of the comments were jokes, some of them were disguised as jokes, sometimes he found himself looking at Louis again, and all of it landed him in meetings with men in suits talking to him about media training and projecting the right “image”. Harry didn’t really consciously aim for a No Chill November. It just sort of happened.

Because somewhere along the line, Louis had gotten his hair cut. Simple thing, hair cuts. Harry has almost long forgotten what it feels like to get one. But Louis had gotten one and that first day Harry had seen him, with his fringe all carefully mussed and seated on his forehead and his face clean shaven, Harry was hard pressed to remember what year it was. 

He looks like Back Then Louis, Harry thinks, some cruel product of time travel sent forward in time to torture him, to remind him of what he gave up. Like whatever force that keeps the universe together is mad at Harry for having given up the love of his life. The great unrequited love of his life. 

Harry wishes the universe would understand what he had been going through, though. Harry had slowly fallen in love with his best friend to find that his best friend didn’t seem to be falling with him. He had thought they were. They had gotten close so many times. But then there was Eleanor and there was Harry’s parade of women and late night hotel room fights and band meetings and slamming doors and too much pride and too many secrets. It just became necessary to box that part of himself away so it couldn’t hurt him anymore. 

The biggest problem is that he’ll always love Louis, even though he knows he’s missed his chance. He’ll love him in the way people always love the great loves of their lives: with everything they have, their whole entire heart, even after their love has gone. 

Louis is always going to be Louis and Harry is always going to be Harry and that’s what made this so difficult. They couldn’t just break up the band. Nobody could leave the band. Nobody wanted anyone to leave the band. Healing Harry’s broken heart wasn’t worth breaking three other hearts. Four other hearts. So he did what he had to do. 

He put distance between them.

He tried not to watch Louis anymore. Harry knows he glances at Louis. It’s always been one of his worst habits, one that had gotten him in trouble over the years, both with the powers that be and with his own heart. He didn't even realize he was doing it most of the time, it just happened, like a deep, biological, subconscious need to just make sure Louis was around and Louis was okay and Louis was paying attention as best as he could. 

He still glances now, and it hurts more, now that he looks a little like Back Then Louis and a little less like Present Louis, the Louis that Harry doesn’t know everything about. All Harry has to do is drift his eyes down a little further to find the tattoos and he knows for sure he’s in the present. Those tattoos Louis got after he spent years saying tattoos weren’t his kind of thing. Harry’s seen them -- honestly, he knows them inside and out, could probably trace them out with location accuracy at the very least, if not artistic accuracy (because Zayn’s the artist) -- and he’d like to convince himself that Louis wanted to be the rope to Harry’s anchor and the arrow crossing through Harry’s heart but. He’s not. They’re not for him. Harry doesn’t know what they’re for because he doesn’t know Louis anymore. 

Present Louis is happier like Back Then Louis too. He’s dead fucking excited about the new album, which Harry understands. Harry loves the album, all of them do, and for so much of it to belong to just them (and for so much of it to belong to Louis) is a beautiful, unbelievable thing. Feedback from releasing the first few songs is coming in better than any of them could hope for. Harry thinks for a frightening few hours that Louis’ mood is going to break under the weight of the album leak, but after Louis shouts out his frustrations, he’s back to the bubbly excitement Harry is eager to become accustomed to. 

But Louis is on another level in Orlando, smiling and joking and looking far more refreshed than he had in a while. Promo season is a different kind of exhausting from tour, but Louis just seems on. It’s a hell of a way to premiere their album, landing them in a theme park.

Everything is going pretty fine. Harry watches as Liam and Louis do what they can to distract from Zayn's absence and everyone grimaces nicely through their Today Show obligations until they can get through to the fun bits. They even manage to get a few rides in before they have to film some things for One Direction: The TV Special, or whatever thoroughly vanilla name management had decided to call it. 

("Brilliant if not a little on the nose," Louis had joked. "Must have been Niall's idea.")

That first night in Orlando, when he'd gone off to the Horror Make Up Show with Liam, Niall and Louis had been disappeared off to who knows where. Harry finds out later, through a series of texts from Niall -- selfies of him wearing a ridiculous outfit with pointy shoulders and a pointy hat that are not doing anything to help fight the leprechaun jokes Niall hates so much -- that the two of them are mucking about in the Harry Potter park. Harry tries not to be bitter, but Harry also loves Harry Potter and Harry loves ridiculous costumes. And Louis, but that seems a bit inconsequential in all this.

Back in their hotel where they'd bought the floor out, Harry is reading in bed by the time Louis' voice starts to carry through the hall. Louis' voice generally only carries through halls this late at night when he’s very mad, very happy, or very drunk. Harry slides out of bed and moves to his door, pressing his ear to it to listen carefully for the answer. It turns out to be very happy. 

Harry considers his options, he could eavesdrop as best he could from behind the cold door in his big and empty and lonely room -- he dreadfully misses the days where they used to share rooms, purely because he likes the company, even if it wasn’t Louis’ company. Or he could peek out into the hallway and watch.

Obviously he chooses the second one. He cracks his hotel door to find Louis grabbing at Liam’s newly acquired Universal Orlando hoodie he now refuses to take off. 

Louis… is dressed like a Harry Potter student, which isn’t specifically a fantasy that Harry’s had quite yet. He looks like a fucking Maurader in that Gryffindor outfit with no robes and his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened just a little. His eyes are bright with cheer and he’s telling a story about hanging out all night up at the Hogwarts ride, mugging for the camera and scaring the shit out of teenage girls and bringing them all in for hugs.

“And then I ran away with this fucking sick uniform,” Louis says, holding out his arms. “They’ll never catch me!”

Liam gives Louis this look and says, “They let you run away. You’re Louis Tomlinson, I’m sure they weren’t going to tackle you and force you to surrender the uniform. You could afford to buy about twenty thousand of them without breaking a sweat. They’re probably taking out of your fee now.” 

“Let me fucking have this, Payno,” Louis says fiercely, waving a threatening finger in his face. Liam backs down because he always does. Harry snorts and immediately claps a hand over his face, ducking back a bit to make sure he’s out of sight. He doesn’t think either Louis or Liam would care that he’s listening in -- they still all share everything, after all -- but he doesn’t fancy the weird look Louis might give him, or the curious glances that would surely come in the days afterward.

“Best day ever,” Liam says.

“Best day ever,” Louis confirms, and Harry watches as they slip into a room together. 

It gets worse for Harry from there, because the following day is just more of the same. He knows he’s watching Louis more than he should be during the long and cold hours it takes them to sing through the special. Every time he turns around to make his casual glances, Louis is smiling, one of his good smiles, the one that puts the crinkles by his eyes. It makes Harry’s throat tight and his hands shake a little more than usual, but he can blame both of those on the cold. 

Harry looks at that smile and thinks to himself, _I’d like to have it. I’d like to kiss it until it was mine._ That’s when Harry knows he’s still in trouble. And, that’s when Harry decides he doesn’t really care.

\--

Harry doesn't really know where to start. So he starts slow.

The first time Harry stands next to him at an appearance, Louis catches his surprise in time, but it’s a near thing. Harry can read his face better than anyone, even when he's hiding what would usually come out on his extraordinarily expressive face. Harry lets himself laugh at Louis’ jokes on camera. He finds himself watching Louis more often than usual, even when Louis isn’t used to being able to look back yet. He studiously ignores the quirked eyebrows from Niall. He just quietly goes about his business. He hopes to get away with it for the next week, going full speed ahead with his plan to slowly assimilate himself at least physically back into Louis’ life. Like exposure therapy.

Harry thinks he’s getting away with it, flying under the radar enough that nobody’s questioning him. He’s not going out of his way to do much else different other than occasionally stand near him. Mostly because he’s too petrified to try to do much else. 

Not that they had cut off all communication once Harry figured out they were never going to be in love. They talk. And stuff. It’s just, usually there are some number of the other lads around or there’s the crew or they’re talking over something musical or something technical or something business related. They’re never alone and they never just chat to have a chat.

Harry thinks he’s getting away with it until Liam corners him in a dressing room before the AMAs where Harry’s trying to artfully not care at all what his hair looks like, much to Lou’s absolute displeasure.

“Heeeey, mate,” Liam says, really quite casually, which means he’s about to get into something fairly serious. Liam is absolutely rubbish at subtlety. 

“What have I done wrong now?” Harry groans.

“What makes you say that?” Liam says, his face crumpling into a frown. Harry just gives him a look like, I’ve known you for four years, and Liam relents, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay, we need to talk about Louis.”

Harry’s heart seizes, but he somehow maintains a cool face. He glances away, and then back. “Oh?”

“And,” Liam starts. Harry sees his jaw work, like he’s trying very hard to stay calm, which Harry thinks is a bit unfair. “Your behavior. Lately.”

Harry blinks. “Oh?” he says again, just to piss him off.

“Harry.” Liam takes a calming breath. “Just. What are you intentions?”

Harry almost laughs at him. “What are my intentions? Do I need _intentions_ to speak to a friend?” 

“You know what I mean,” Liam says with a scowl.

“Has he said something about me?” Because Harry’s now back in school and they’re all gossiping like kids again, talking about who likes who and who said what and passing messages through friends because everyone’s too scared to just talk to other kids like normal. He knows it’s possible Liam would know if Louis has said something -- eventually they do get around to talking like actual humans in between all the nipple twisting, Harry knows, because that’s how they write most of their songs. Songs that break Harry’s heart a little.

Liam sighs, just slightly, his shoulders relaxing. “No, he hasn’t said anything, but I think you just need to be careful.”

“I need to be careful?” Harry’s face is worked into a full on scowl and he’s like this close to crossing his arms in defiance.

Liam starts to look a little panicky now, like he’s about to start backpedaling. “I just worry that you’re sending the wrong message.”

“What’s the message? That I want to be his friend? That I want to treat him like I treat you guys? That I’m tired of tiptoeing around him like he’s some sort of minefield?” Liam shrugs, opens his mouth to say something, but Harry steamrolls over him. 

“It’s exhausting, Liam, it’s really fucking exhausting, and I just want my best friend back.”

It feels like some sort of catharsis, letting the words slip out of his mouth, verbally acknowledging the truth. He’s not launching an overture to recapture Louis’ heart, he just misses his best friend. He’s allowed to miss his best fucking friend. 

Liam’s frowning and looking at Harry with something not close to pity, but perhaps understanding. But he doesn’t say anything. Harry deflates with a scoff, glancing away again, blinking rapidly against an onslaught of tears he’s sure will come.

“I can just stand next to Niall tonight, if it means that much to you,” Harry mumbles. He doesn’t want to stand next to Niall. Not that he doesn’t love Niall a lot, but he wants to stand next to Louis. He wants Louis to want to stand next to him again. 

“No,” Liam says quietly. Harry feels his hand on his upper arm, squeezing in reassurance. Harry swallows around a lump in his throat. “Sorry,” Liam says and leaves the room quickly.

Harry stands next to Niall anyway, and Zayn, but he can’t keep himself from talking to Louis on the red carpet, can’t keep himself from glancing over at him, taking in the line of his shoulders, the cut of his jaw and cheekbones, the light of his eyes. 

He can’t keep himself from looking at Louis when they win. Can’t keep himself from staring across the circle at him and can only barely manage to keep himself from wrapping him up in a hug backstage, away from the cameras. He does give him a pat on the back, though, a grazing touch, brief and so light that he’s not sure Louis even felt it. Louis turns and smiles at him though, and for just a moment, the blinding happiness that radiates off of him warms Harry up like the California sun, and he finds himself smiling in return.

\--

Harry finally grows enough courage to start verbal contact in Australia. They’re all separated for interviews preceding the award ceremony they’ve been flown in to attend. 

Louis is standing in the makeshift green room, picking over their paltry selection of tea with a look of displeasure on his face. Louis loves Australia, has unbearably fond memories of Australia, Harry knows, but Harry also knows his only real complaint is he cannot believe this country, as an upstanding member of the Commonwealth, refuses to supply him with a good Yorkshire.

“Good tea, yeah?” Harry mumbles quietly, pouring out some hot water for himself.

Louis stills for a moment, seemingly stunned and then levels Harry with narrowed eyes. “Are you -- are you having me on?” He sounds so hesitantly amused that something breaks in Harry’s chest, another one of those layers he’s built up to protect himself from this.

“Yeah,” Harry admits. It’s not his best joke. But none of his jokes are his best joke. 

“I honestly cannot believe that this country, as an upstanding member of the Commonwealth,” Louis starts, turning back to the table to grab a cup and Harry’s heart starts beating about seven times faster than is healthy.

“Refuses to supply you with a good Yorkshire. I remember,” he finishes with Louis. He can’t help but smile at Louis, dimples on full display surely, and that prompts a hesitant smile from Louis as well before he gets called away.

Harry is still on his best behavior, still poking at Niall an above average amount to even the fields as far as Louis is concerned, because Niall knows he bore the brunt of Harry’s unspent affection as a result of Harry having to cut Louis from his life. Niall still quirks his eyebrows, but says nothing, plays back and plays along, because Niall is fucking ace. 

He sees Louis cope the same way, focusing in on Liam since he and Harry had gone their separate ways. It had taken all of Harry’s strength not to be jealous of the things he and Liam get up to on their own. Harry doesn’t wonder what it would be like if he and Louis could lock themselves away to write songs together or plan practical jokes together or hug each other when thousands of people are looking. Harry thinks he can have that now, these perks of being Louis’ friend, these benefits of being the object of Louis’ attention. 

They talk to a million new people about their album -- well, not enough about their new album because they’re still sludging through the same old shitty questions they can’t ever seem to shake. But Harry would sit through as many horrible interviews as possible if it means he gets to see Louis crinkle his smile and brighten a room with that infectious enthusiasm he hasn’t been able to shake since Orlando.

Harry and Louis talk, too. Just casual things. Sometimes it’s about the weather. Sometimes it’s about whatever ridiculous shirt Harry is wearing that day. Sometimes it’s to check in with each other that they both still remember back when Liam said psychiatry might not be a word. 

Sometimes it’s bringing each other a bottle of water from the refreshments when one of them is going to grab something. Sometimes it’s elbows nudging each other. Sometimes it’s looking at pictures Jay’s texted of Doris and Ernest on Louis’ phone. 

Harry pretends like he doesn’t see the Kimmel selfie is Louis’ phone’s home screen background. He pretends like the chance to stand next to Louis during that segment didn’t have his hands shaking as he held that dog, and he pretends, for the sake of his own sanity, that he hadn’t seen the look on Louis’ face when they brought out the baby. He always gets this look when he talks about babies or when someone mentions them or when he looks at pictures of his little siblings. The lock screen on Louis’ phone is still a picture of Louis and Ernest, which Harry gets. Louis talks about that a lot, how happy he is to finally have a little brother, saying ridiculous things like needing a little more testosterone in the family, like Harry and the lads aren’t enough testosterone to balance out the sheer volume of sisters Louis has. 

“But when you factor in all of the other sisters, Liam’s and Zayn’s and, um, yours, that’s still, like, too much estrogen in my family,” Louis had said quickly and quietly, like lumping in Harry as his family hadn’t sent Harry’s pulse skyrocketing and hadn’t made him want to take Louis by the face and kiss him senseless. 

After that, Harry’s got his Back Then Louis. They click back into place so quickly, it’d almost be kind of terrifying if it wasn’t comforting. Harry remembers what it’s like to move as a unit with another person, to be understood without having to explain anything. He misses it, he craves it, and he’s not about to let it go.

December strikes hard and fast and Harry’s mission is very nearly complete. He’s very nearly reached the optimal levels of friendship with Louis and Louis has very graciously (and very shockingly) said nothing at all to acknowledge it. He just kind of lets it happen.

Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself the night they have to go on Graham Norton and Harry has to sit next to one of his heroes and not make a complete arse of himself. Louis knows, he’s seen the posters and the pictures and he even made the mistake of trying to watch Lord of the Rings with Harry back at The X-Factor once before pausing the movie and asking if Harry was going to quote along over the dialogue or just let the actors do what they’re paid to do.

Louis finds Harry in the green room before the taping and sits down next to him on the couch where Harry has his eyes glued to his phone in an effort to look nonchalant. His hands won’t stop shaking, though, and his stomach keeps heaving. He hasn’t felt this way since the X Factor. He’s so nervous that he barely even registers that he and Louis are really properly alone for the first time since Harry started his quest to reignite best friendship. 

“So,” Louis starts, plopping down on the sofa next to Harry. “Boring day, innit.”

Something cracks in Harry’s chest. Another wall, down. “Yeah,” he laments, happy to play along, his voice only shaking a little. “Just a real snoozefest from start to finish. If only we had something to do.”

Louis _tsks_ at him. “If I could, Harry, I would whisk you away to a life of intrigue and adventure. But alas. We are stuck in this humdrum life with these humdrum jobs and our humdrum chat show appearances.”

“If only,” Harry says and lasts about seven seconds in solemnity before he’s shaking with laughter instead of nerves.

“There we go,” Louis says, hopping up from the couch, dusting his hands off like his work is done here. He holds a hand out for Harry. Harry stares at it, looking for some sort of tremor, but there’s nothing. It’s just there, steady and stable. “We’re off to see the wizard.”

Harry takes Louis’ hand and hauls himself up. “That was a terrible joke,” he says with pride.

Louis just rolls his eyes and says, “You love it.”

\--

Louis keeps his knee nudged up to Harry for as much of the interview as he can manage and Harry only fangirls majorly about two times because Sir Ian fucking McKellen is sitting right next to him and is calling him amazing and he’s not sure how much cooler his job can get from here. 

“We just met Ian _McKellen_ ,” Harry says once they’re all safely backstage again. He’s doubled over, hands on his knees and trying to catch his breath as if he’s just run a marathon, not sat on a couch for an hour. 

“Sir Ian McKellen, innit,” Liam says, texting someone on his phone. Not Paul, because Paul’s gone now, but probably one of the assistants that stayed. “Car’ll be here in five.” He looks up, frowning. “Has anyone seen Zayn?” 

“Stopped off in the toilet, I think,” Louis says, picking through the remnants of the refreshments table. Harry doesn’t understand how they’re all still so calm about this. “Nialler’s with him too.” 

“Christ,” Liam mutters, “Okay, you two stay here, I’m going to find them.” 

Harry doesn’t deign to answer Liam as he slips out the door, muttering about herding cats, just keeps trying to breathe. 

“You’d think he’d have just learned to send Paddy after them by now,” Louis says, his voice startlingly close. Harry straightens, blinking at him. He’s so unsure of how to act, mostly because meeting Ian McKellen has got him out of sorts, but also the mention of Wellington. 

Harry’d forgotten that they were supposed to meet the cast, like the memory of Louis almost kissing him in public for the first time had eclipsed literally everything else. God, he can still remember it so clearly. Louis had turned to him, waggling his eyebrows in the dumb way he’d had and Harry had laughed in the even dumber way _he’d_ had, and Louis’ face had just. Changed. Gone from goofing off to stupidly serious in a flash, and he’d moved with such purpose, and Harry had known what he was going to do even before he’d leaned in, but it felt so fucking careless to have their first kiss be in public in the middle of a crowded bar and probably caught on camera. Felt careless and wrong and Harry loved him so much that he couldn’t do it, told himself he could do it better and _right_ and caught Louis with a hand to his chest and murmured, “Not here,” into his ear. 

Louis had fallen asleep in the car on the way back to the hotel, and claimed to have no memory of the night when he’d woken the next day. Harry hadn’t believed him, still doesn’t believe him, especially with his reaction to what Ian had said during the interview, but he can’t just bring it up. He can’t just say, _why wouldn’t you kiss me the next day_ or _why won’t you kiss me now_ because that’s not part of being friends with someone. Harry knows that. 

“Well, you know Liam,” Harry says after an entirely too long moment, “likes to be in control.” 

“Oh yeah,” Louis says, eyebrows rising and a smile stretching across his mouth as if Harry’s said something particularly naughty. “Tell me more about how Liam likes to be in control, then.” 

“Ugh, no,” Harry groans, covering his eyes with a hand. “Bad thoughts. Stop it.” 

Louis cackles, even as Harry lets out another displeased noise. It settles into something nice, though, something easy between them, their earlier tension forgotten already. Louis has always been able to do that -- just, come into a room, read the situation and diffuse it effortlessly. Or, whenever he felt particularly mischievous or ill-tempered, make it ten times worse, but for the most part, Louis has always served to calm people down and get their minds off things. He’d done it before the show and now he’s doing it again and Harry could cry from how grateful he feels. 

“Oh, car’s here,” Louis says after his phone chirps with a message. “Come on Curly, places to be.” 

“Wait,” Harry says, grabbing his wrist. Louis stills, raising an eyebrow, and Harry lets his hand slide down, tangling his fingers with Louis’. Louis lets it happen, looks so unperturbed by it that Harry forgets why he’s done it for a moment, until Louis looks at him expectantly. 

“Um,” Harry says, “I just wanted to -- thank you. For before. So, thank you.” 

Louis looks at him carefully for a moment, his eyes scanning Harry’s face. “It’s no problem, Haz,” he says eventually. “S’what friends are for, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, voice rougher than he wants it to be. “Right, of course.” He detaches his hand from Louis’, clears his throat. “Of course.” 

Louis smiles brightly at him, and slaps him on the shoulder. “Right, now come on, before Liam has an aneurysm.” 

\--

They’re in Holland next for a Dutch chat show. Harry loves foreign language interviews, as confusing as they are when they’re not in English, he loves reaching out to these places and giving their time to fans they don’t usually spend a lot of time with. 

Harry pretends he isn’t floored by the ancient footage of him and Louis playing football out on a field. They can’t do that anymore, he’s reminded, on both fronts. They can’t just spend an hour pissing about playing footie without being caught or followed or dragged off to some sort of engagement. And they certainly can’t do things together. Harry thinks he remembers this night, though, he remembers what’s coming, him and Louis running up to Liam and then, bam, falling dramatically to the ground in perfect unison. Harry wonders if they’ve reached that level again, if they trust each other and know each other enough to not even have to communicate.

He risks a glance at Louis, just a brief look in his direction, but it’s a mistake, because the look on Louis’ face -- bright and happy -- makes Harry’s breath catch in his chest. He has to reach over and take a few nuts from the nut bowl to distract himself and try not to get caught up in all of it. Louis’ happy because it’s a happy memory, that’s all. That’s okay. It’s enough. 

Before they know it they’re on the plane back to England and Liam’s tweeting about wanting to sleep while Niall and Zayn are actually sleeping, which leaves Louis up near the front of the plane, seated alone and wrapped in a blanket. Harry snags the seat next to him. Louis’ looking out the window, out over the endless clouds, painted with pink and orange and yellow as the sun goes down, but still shifts around until some of the blanket is thrown over Harry’s lap, like he knew he was there anyway. It’s not enough of the blanket to really be effective because he’s still Louis and he still hogs the blanket, but Harry appreciates the gesture.

“Hi,” Harry says quietly. He pretends he’s staring out the window and not at the little section of skin behind Louis’ ear that he wants to reach out and run his thumb over. 

Louis turns back at him with a sleepy smile and says, “Hi yourself.” It takes Harry everything he has not to lean forward and kiss him. He’s really rubbish at this friends thing. 

“I miss you,” Harry says instead, unthinking. He has a flash of panic, like he’d like to take the words back, bottle them up and shove them out of place. But they’re not untrue. And he wants Louis to know. Louis needs to know. 

Louis’ face falls a little though, and Harry thinks he’s misstepped until he feels Louis’ hand searching around under the blanket. Harry reaches for him and slips his hand into Louis’ and they don’t say anything else.

They’ve got a weeks’ worth of signing and promo and flying ahead of them and Harry can’t stop himself from gravitating toward Louis in every single one. It’s natural. It’s just like it used to be, except it isn’t, because Harry’s not in love, he’s just in friendship. At least, that’s what he tells Niall when they’re sitting in a Spanish hotel room drinking from the mini-bar and not talking about how Louis’ flying home because he’s been sick all day and if he doesn’t take a day of rest, he won’t make it to The X-Factor performance. Harry needs Louis at The X-Factor performance.

“I like the quiff,” Harry says, still talking about Louis’ hair of late. It’s a little preppier than he seemed to be willing to wear it all year, but the fact of the matter is it looks damn good on him and he’s thankful Louis’ picked up wearing it again. He’s sure it has nothing to do with Harry mentioning a few weeks ago how much he liked it when Louis wore it that way for Jay’s wedding this summer and for Night Changes.

“Okay,” Niall says, and it’s then that Harry realizes that’s the only word Niall’s been contributing to the conversation for the past half an hour.

“Too much?” Harry says with a wince. They’ve been in this position before, is the thing. Niall’s heard most of this before. 

“I’m used to it,” Niall says, starfishing out on Harry’s bed to stretch all of his limbs before he inevitably curls in on himself to sleep. It makes Harry feel terribly guilty, like he’s taking advantage of Niall’s friendship. 

“It’s not like that anymore,” Harry argues. Niall just rolls his eyes and then rolls over in Harry’s bed, snuggling in for the night even though he’s still in his nice “camera-ready” clothes. Caroline’s going to murder him once she realizes he’s slept in them. Harry falls asleep imagining it and not thinking about how fucking beautiful Louis looks under stage lights. 

Louis’ gone the whole next day and what’s worse is he’s tweeting about them from his bed, sending well wishes and moaning about not being able to be there with them. Harry texts him quite firmly that if he’s not awake and eating soup or taking medicine, he needs to be asleep. The only replies he gets are emojis -- one of a hospital, a pill, a syringe with blood in, an ambulance. Harry keeps texting, even after Louis stops replying. 

It’s literally miserable without Louis there. Harry has to be told three times he’s not looking pleasant enough, that he needs to smile more, that he needs to be _charming._ He misses Louis though; he’s having some strange sort of withdrawal, something he hasn’t experienced in a really long time, and it’s stressful. He doesn’t like it when Louis isn’t there, both pre-broken heart and post-broken heart. The other lads feel it too, he knows, like their ship is rudderless, like they’re _directionless_ (he loves hearing the groans that pun elicits and he doesn’t even care) without Louis.

But Harry also needs Louis to be well-rested because Harry needs him tomorrow, pretty desperately, and he needs him in tiptop shape, because another one of Harry’s dreams is coming true. An honest to god motherfucking member of the _Rolling Stones _has agreed to play with them and, the real unbelievable kicker is, they’ve agreed to play one of Harry’s songs. That’s a member of the Rolling Stones playing a song Harry’s written on. If he didn’t think he’d be utterly bored and if the other lads wouldn’t murder him in his sleep for it, he could probably retire immediately following The X-Factor performance.__

__Not everything is perfect, though._ _

__The producers don’t have him standing next to Ronnie Wood, who is currently blocked to be sandwiched between Louis and Niall. Harry doesn’t ever really understand the mechanics of their order of standing when it has nothing to do with choreography or how the song goes, except the precedent from the last two years that involves he and Louis not standing anywhere near each other. But that’s not even the case, this time, so it honestly makes no sense at all to Harry, who sings the most of the song and who should, by all rights, be standing next to Ronnie fucking Wood._ _

__Niall seems just as excited as Harry does at the opportunity to stand next to a Rolling Stone, so Harry attempts to launch a passionate plea to the producers switch him and Louis, but he doesn’t put too much heat into it. It’s rude to rob Louis of the opportunity to sing next to Ronnie Wood, and he supposes since they’re already playing one of Harry’s songs that it’s a bit selfish to want to have his cake and eat it too. Even if Louis doesn’t really seem to care either way where he’s standing._ _

__They’re about to take their places and the lights are dimming and Harry turns to check in with Louis, because old habits die hard, and Louis is looking back. They stare at each other for a moment, and then Louis winks at him and Harry’s not really sure what it means until about a minute and a half later when Ronnie Wood is out and Louis is traveling away from his microphone and Harry orbits the opposite way, instinctively, and they turn their switch into something that looks like choreography. Because even now Louis is still looking out for him. Even now Louis wants his dreams to come true._ _

__Harry goes a little crazy with it, he’s not afraid or ashamed to admit it. He gives his song everything he’s got, infuses it with everything he remembers feeling when he was writing it with the guys. Seeking out a heart that was broken to make amends, rekindling a lost relationship, ownership of wrongs done. Harry will swear up and down to anyone who asks this song is not about Louis Tomlinson. He’s sure of it. Because he hasn’t tried to right any of his wrongs._ _

__When the song is over, Harry knows the whole thing isn’t a dream, but it still feels like a dream, because Louis is there with the group hug and he thumps on Harry’s back and Harry knows he’s saying, “I’m so fucking proud of you,” even though he can’t really hear it over the sound of the crowd. Harry is pretty much floating on cloud nine. In this moment in time, his song on televisions across his country, his song played by a legend, and his boys by his side, Harry feels pretty damn satisfied. Maybe he could retire, after all._ _

__\--_ _

__New York is a whirlwind and a mess and a flurry of nonstop rehearsals and taping and attempting to prepare for Christmas from another continent. Jimmy Fallon is a fucking delight, like Harry’s always suspected him to be, and Harry’s studied Kristen Wiig’s performance pretty closely, so he can be ready for whatever Jimmy throws at him. Louis catches him watching it in the bathroom just before they go on and he laughs at him and then doesn’t stop laughing at him until they’re lined up behind the curtain ready to go out on stage._ _

__Harry manages to convince whoever he needs to convince in wardrobe to let them keep his terrible Christmas jumper, only willingly taking it off once they have to leave the studio, because even though the entire world would believe Harry would actually own and wear this sweater, the producers don’t want to give any spoilers away._ _

__Harry puts it right back on once they’re in the hotel after they’re done with their evening of filming promos with Amy Adams for SNL. He’s in bed, lying on top of his duvet, listening to the tinny sounds of Ready to Run on repeat through his phone’s speakers because, if anybody asks, he’s just preparing for tomorrow. But really it’s because he loves this one. A lot. In the same way he loves Through the Dark. It’s a good song with a good message._ _

__Harry’s been ready, he’s put his mission into play and he’s come out on top. He took a leap of faith, trusted himself that he wouldn’t let himself get hurt again, and… you know, so far so good. Sure, it hurts sometimes when he holds Louis’ gaze too long, or it hurts when Louis calls him _Haz_ or _Curly_ or _Harold_ in that same fond voice he’s always done. But that’s a sweet sort of pain, the pain of knowing someone cares about you, even if it’s not in the same way you want them to. It’s a pain Harry can live with, honestly. _ _

__He’s startled by a knock on the door, but he gets up to get it nonetheless, in just his boxers and this terrible Christmas jumper that he loves an irrational amount._ _

__It’s Louis, which is a surprise, and he’s got a greasy bag of food, which is an even better surprise. Harry practically bows him inside because anybody who shows up with junk food in the middle of the night should be treated like royalty. Louis doesn’t say anything, he just throws himself onto Harry’s bed like he belongs there -- and he does -- and Harry rests himself tentatively on the edge of the bed, careful not to get too close._ _

__Louis doesn’t seem to notice, just natters on about their week and New York and how he kind of loves New York but he also kind of hates New York and how excited he is for their Christmas break and how nice it is that his family have come to town to see the show. Harry just eats pretty much every chip Louis has in the bag, nodding along and saying the right things when he can._ _

__Louis tosses the bag over the edge of the bed when it’s empty and wipes his greasy fingers all over Harry’s duvet before climbing under it. Harry freezes, stock still, swallowing thickly. They haven’t gone this far. They haven’t -- Harry doesn’t think he can handle it, Louis in his bed. Louis sleeping next to him. Louis breathing steadily when Harry wakes up every few hours just to make sure he hasn’t left. Harry doesn’t know if he could handle it if Louis left._ _

__“Shit,” Louis says when he notices that Harry’s just staring at him. He looks stricken, hopelessly embarrassed. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” He unfolds himself from the bed and Harry wants to tell him to stay, but he can’t get the words out._ _

__“No,” Harry manages to say, but Louis is already at the door, a hand running through his hair and presumably not listening to reason. “Louis -- ”_ _

__“I’m sorry,” Louis mumbles. “Good night.”_ _

__“Shit,” Harry hisses at himself as soon as the door is closed. “shit shit shit.”_ _

__\--_ _

__It’s not that Harry thinks that Louis doesn’t talk to him until it’s Saturday’s dress rehearsal on purpose, because they’re all kind of busy and they’ve got things to do and people to appease, but really, honestly, it feels like Louis isn’t talking to Harry on purpose. And it’s fucking Harry up a bit._ _

__Louis has his hair parted in the middle and plastered down to his head, a skeezy hairdo to match their identical, skeezy track suits. Louis premieres his brilliant hairstyle to the lads with his arms open and his eyebrows quirked so high they can be seen over the rims of his sunglasses._ _

__“Eh?” he says with a good approximation of the accent he’s wearing for the sketch. “Eh?” He adds a little Danny Zuko shoulder shimmy for good measure. Harry loves to see him in his element, this element. Not that singing isn’t also his element, but being a professional idiot on television also seems like it’d be Louis’ element._ _

__“S’beautiful,” Harry praises, trying not to flush with pleasure when Louis grins at him._ _

__“That’s what I said,” Louis chirps, throwing an accusatory look to Zayn, so clearly Harry’s unwittingly stepped in an argument._ _

__“Harry’s biased,” Zayn says, though he seems pretty unaffected by it all, as usual._ _

__Harry frowns. “Why am I biased?” he asks, but goes unanswered as they’re pulled to the stage._ _

__The sketch is a blast, Harry gets to throw all sorts of crazy shapes (Wonderful shapes, like he always does, _Liam._ ) and do a silly voice and he wishes they could do more, but he’s happy enough that they’ve been asked to do anything at all. He specifically seeks Louis out to congratulate him on a job well done, but Louis just shrugs the compliment off like he normally does and dodges to the side to chase after Liam backstage, running precariously close to a mountain of props being sorted by crew members._ _

__When the sketch finally goes up, Louis’ hair isn’t done up in the part, but instead in the quiff he’s got to wear for performances, which is a shame and isn’t a shame. It’s a shame because the quiff is less funny but isn’t a shame because. Well. Everyone knows how Harry feels about Louis with a quiff._ _

__Harry finally corners him during the commercial break before Ready to Run._ _

__“I’m sorry,” he says, bluntly and quickly because they don’t have enough time and Harry only has this moment alone with Louis because he orchestrated it with Zayn and Liam and Niall. Though “orchestrated” is really just a fancy way of saying he shoved his way into the green room before any of them could and locked the door behind him._ _

__Louis’ eyebrows quirk up. “For what?” He looks like he honestly has no idea what Harry’s talking about. Harry isn’t sure how that makes him feel. He takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and when he opens them he finds Louis’ gaze immediately, holding it._ _

__“I should have asked you to stay,” he says, taking a step closer when Louis looks away. “Lou -- ”_ _

__Louis takes a step back, holds up a hand and shakes his head at Harry and says, “Not now.”_ _

__“Yes now,” Harry says, trying to sound firm instead of petulant, sincerely apologetic instead of bratty. “I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry for everything. Like. Just a blanket apology for the last four years, for everything.”_ _

__“You’re sorry for everything?” Louis says slowly and it hits Harry that maybe that was the wrong way to say it._ _

__“I mean I’m sorry for the things I did wrong. I’m not sorry about you. I will never be sorry about you. Or -- ” Harry breaks off, clearing his throat before continuing, quietly, “Or how I feel about you.”_ _

__Louis ducks his head, which is odd because Louis doesn’t really do demure. But he’s talking to his shoes when he says, “Why are you doing this to me, Harry?”_ _

__Harry knows he doesn’t mean the apology. That he means the last month. He means the mission. He means why has Harry being torturing him by dredging up the past and sticking Louis’ face in it. Harry’s chest hitches as he takes a breath._ _

__“Because I miss you and I don’t think it’s fair that I lost my best friend. We have everything we could ever want, but what does that even mean if I can’t share it with you,” Harry says quietly. “I’m sorry because I couldn’t share my life with you.”_ _

__Louis stares at him for a long moment and time stretches, time and space and everything Harry’s just said and the things he missed the chance to say and the things he hasn’t had the chance to say yet. It all expands in the space between them, filling the air in the room until it’s heavy and tense and Harry wants to cry._ _

__“Get the fuck out here, we have to go!” Niall shouts from outside the door, pounding on it. Harry blinks, his heart thudding against his ribs. He looks at Louis one last time, watches him cross the room to the door and leave without even looking back at Harry._ _

__His heart feels shattered, thousands and thousands of tiny jagged pieces in his chest that shift when he moves, when he follows Louis out the door._ _

__They take their places on the stage and Harry can’t even feel nervous. He doesn’t feel anything, just completely numb until the music starts, and he realizes they’re not done talking yet. He steps up to his mic and sings his verse right into the camera, “There’s a lightning in your eyes I can’t deny. Then there’s me inside a sinking boat, running out of time. Without you I’ll never make it out alive. But I know, yes I know we’ll be all right.”_ _

___Listen to me, Louis. Listen to your own words, the ones you’ve given me._ _ _

__Louis doesn’t even look into the camera when he replies. He looks right at Harry, sings, “There will always be the kind that criticize. But I know, yes I know, we’ll be all right,” leaves Harry breathless when he looks away in the next moment._ _

___We’ll be all right._ Harry thinks if they tried it all over again, if there was some way he could get Louis back, he’d be ready for him. And there wouldn’t be a single thing that could stand in his way._ _

__Harry loves him. He loves him too fucking much. He worries he can’t make it through the rest of the song because the realization punches the air from his chest. He powers through to the last line, his last line, _I’m ready to run._ He really fucking is._ _

__The show cuts to commercial and they’re all standing there, still receiving their applause, and Louis’ looking at him full on now that the cameras are off. Harry’s only barely smart enough not to say anything when there are microphones so close to them. He lets himself look back instead, and nods._ _

__Louis disappears after the curtain call, follows his mum back to the hotel, doesn’t stay for the afterparty. It makes sense, Harry’s embarrassed himself on national television, he’s just done what he told himself he wasn’t going to do. He put himself into the exact same position he was in when he was sixteen and he did the exact same thing. He fell in love with Louis Tomlinson. And Louis Tomlinson wasn’t falling back._ _

__Harry puts a smile on anyway, he turns on _Harry Styles_ and does all the Harry Styles things that are expected of him. Sometimes, when he remembers it, all of it, he can’t move or he can’t breathe and Niall has to come to his rescue twice before Harry calls it a night._ _

__\--_ _

__Harry buries himself deep within Holmes Chapel as soon as possible. He cooks with his mother and goes to see his ladies at the bakery and wraps his Christmas presents and doesn’t think about Louis. He visits some old friends, checks in with the lads -- except Louis, obviously -- and sleeps. He doesn’t dream about Louis, but that’s only because he doesn’t dream of anything. He falls asleep and wakes hours later, and goes about his day. He pushes Louis Tomlinson from his mind. He’s done it before, he can do it again._ _

__When they’ve finished their marathon Christmas Eve Eve dinner it’s late, but his mum says she’s got one special surprise for them all. She unearths a DVD from the pile of post in the kitchen and says, “Guess what I was sent.”_ _

__Harry groans because he’s sure it’s to do with him. “Mum, no.”_ _

__His mum grins at him, her mouth stretching in an expression not unlike one of Harry’s own. “It’s your very own TV special. And we’ve got it just a few hours before America, look at that.”_ _

__Harry makes a face. “Mum, noooooo.”_ _

__“We’re going to watch it. This is family time and we’re proud of you.”_ _

__Harry flops over the back of the couch and groans into the cushions, “Muuuum, nooooooo.”_ _

__They watch it anyway. Harry tries not to pay attention because he doesn’t like watching himself on camera. He’s never watched The X-Factor and he’s maybe seen half of This Is Us, but he really can’t bear it. It’s weird and impersonal. And stupidly embarrassing._ _

__What he does like is seeing the little interviews with the lads that he hadn’t seen before. They gush about South America -- and rightly so, South America was fucking ace -- and they even get a whole portion of the special dedicated to their new album. How thoughtful of the producers._ _

__Louis’ on screen talking about the writing process. Harry could listen to him talk about that for days, probably, because Louis exhibits far more passion when he talks about writing than he does with almost everything else. Except perhaps the Rovers._ _

__“It’s a big thing, sitting in a room, talking about your feelings,” Louis says. “Talking about your deepest… love, and whenever you’ve gotten your heart broken.” Louis looks away from the camera when he says it, his eyes darting to the side, like if he looks straight into it he’ll give away too much. He used to do the same thing when he looked at Harry, sometimes. When they’d be pressed together in a bunk or a hotel bed and whispering about all the things they could be together. All the things they’d wanted, together._ _

__Harry stares at the screen, but he can’t watch it anymore, he isn’t absorbing any of the images. Writing songs. Deepest love. Heart broken. Harry is… Harry is such an idiot. The past two months flash back at him, rapid fire memories of Louis’ face whenever Harry would do something like they used to when he was sixteen or when he’d tell an awful joke. Louis’ hesitance and surprise at Harry speaking to him again. Louis smiling at him in that fond way he’d always had. Louis wanting to sleep in his bed. Liam’s warning._ _

___Fuck._ _ _

__“Love,” his mum says suddenly, with a hand on his shoulder. Her face is etched in concern._ _

__He realizes his face is wet, which means he’s been crying without realizing, and that he’s somehow slid down from the couch to the floor. His mum’s eyes are wide, her hand a firm weight on his shoulder, anchoring him. Harry wipes at his face before picking himself up off the floor. “I think. I think I’ve got to go.”_ _

__“Okay,” his mum says, resigned, reserved. She understands without him saying anything. She knows, better than anyone, how hard and how fast Harry fell. She knows so much about all of it, and Harry wonders if she even knew how Louis felt, all along. If she did, then she must know where he has to go and what he has to do. The rest of his family looks on with surprise, but Harry doesn’t have time for that. He gets in his car and heads east._ _

__Harry’s broken Louis’ heart. He knows nobody else has because there’s never really been anyone else, not anyone real, not anyone that Louis looked at like he looked at Harry. Harry has made sure of that. Louis writes for him, talks to Liam and Julian and Jamie and John about him. Louis says all the things he could never say to Harry through his songs. Harry knows this because Harry does the same damn thing. Christ, they’re both so fucking stupid. Have they always been this stupid? They must have, or else Harry would’ve figured this out before now._ _

__The route from Harry’s mum’s house to Jay’s is permanently etched into his brain, along with all the other permanent things about him -- his name and his birthday and his hometown and his band and the route to the love of his life’s mum’s house._ _

__Harry arrives criminally fast -- definitely breaking at least four laws -- and it’s just turned midnight but he knows everyone is awake because Louis won’t let anyone go to sleep until it’s after midnight and he’s been appropriately celebrated._ _

__Harry sees lights through the window as he walks up, and he knocks on the door firmly. He’s freezing because he didn’t think to take a jacket, so he bounces a little and clutches himself tightly. No one answers. Harry hugs himself tighter and raises a fist to knock again when Jay opens the door, the frown on her face turning to visible surprise._ _

__“Harry,” she says. “What a pleasant surprise.” She sort of looks like this is a pleasant surprise, but there’s a little too much wariness for Harry’s liking. He supposes he might feel the same way, actually, if someone showed up on his doorstep at midnight on Christmas Eve morning with no invitation._ _

__“Is Louis home?” he says because that’s what he always used to say because it was ridiculous because Louis was always home, that’s why Harry would come over. He doesn’t know what else to say, now._ _

__“Of course, love, come in,” she says and disappears off to find him._ _

__Harry stands in the entrance way and turns a little circle, trying to work out some of his nerves. He’s a bit keyed up from the drive, bouncing on his toes and wringing his hands together. He’s got to get this energy out now, because he definitely can’t leave. He has to know._ _

__Louis makes a little noise behind him and Harry turns around quickly to set his eyes on a sleepy-soft Louis in worn trackies and a massive white shirt Harry is reasonably certain belongs to him and not Louis. Harry makes a soft noise in his throat at the sight. He doesn’t hold it back._ _

__“Happy birthday,” Harry says, because he knows that’s the most important thing, it’ll be the most important thing to say first. Louis doesn’t say anything, he just keeps watching Harry with this confused look on his face, almost like he can’t believe Harry’s actually here. Harry can’t really believe it either. But he came here for a reason._ _

__“I love you,” he blurts, his pulse rabbiting in his throat with it. “I’ve always loved you, it’s always been you.”_ _

__Louis blinks, his face scrunching into something like dumbstruck surprise. He’s frozen six feet away from Harry looking like he’s a deer in headlights and he stays that way for so long that Harry thinks he’s fucked it all up. He’s read the whole situation wrong. Louis doesn’t love him and Louis doesn’t write for him and Harry’s gone and forced himself on Louis yet again and Harry’s going to have his heart broken yet again because he’s hopeless when it comes to Louis, well and truly hopelessly gone for him. He’ll have to quit the band or beg for forgiveness before they can move on._ _

__Harry takes in a shuddering breath, opens his mouth to apologize at the very least, but Louis crosses his arms and crooks his eyebrows together._ _

__“Well,” he says, and Harry can tell he’s trying to sound snappy, inconvenienced, but there’s a thin tremor under it, a shaky edge of insecurity. “Are you going to kiss me or what?”_ _

__Harry lets loose the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in his chest and surges forward, crashing himself against Louis. He pulls him close, lacing his fingers through his Back Then hair and presses their lips into a desperate kiss for the first time. They connect so quickly, so easily. Louis is a comforting and familiar weight against him, one hand around Harry’s hip and the other at the nape of his neck, tugging him close. He’s just as fucking desperate for it as Harry is, and Harry’s never been so happy to be right in his entire life._ _

__They pull apart reluctantly to breathe and Harry rests his forehead to Louis’. He can’t stop smiling. If he can’t stop smiling, they can’t start kissing again, so he works at trying to tone down his smile, but he can’t. Maybe they can just kiss while Harry’s smiling. That could work, maybe. No harm in trying._ _

__"What took you so long? I've been waiting ages," Louis says, probably thinking that Harry thinks he's joking. But Harry knows better than that, now. Louis isn’t joking. He’s saying, _I've only written you two albums asking you to come home._ Harry’s only just now hearing him. _ _

__"It took me some time but I figured it out," Harry says because he'll swear up and down his song is about Louis Tomlinson. Every song is about Louis Tomlinson, he’s fairly certain._ _

__"That's a terrible joke," Louis says, but his grin tells Harry otherwise._ _

__"You love it."_ _

__"I have loved you since I was eighteen,” Louis says, his eyes crinkling around a smile of his own._ _

__“ _That’s_ a terrible joke,” Harry says, and he means to roll his eyes, he really does, but he can’t seem to do anything except smile like a fool._ _

__“You love it,” Louis murmurs, going up on his toes to kiss Harry again._ _

__And. Well. Louis’ not wrong._ _

**Author's Note:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS HAPPY HOLIDAYS HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! thanks for reading.


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